i wish i could believe the positive things people say to cheer me up. i really do. but everything i ever do never goes the way it does in my head. every time i get better physically or emotionally, i always end up back here. weak, pale, scrawny, and in pain. i cry endlessly over things that will never matter. i get obsessed with everything too quickly, but i always end up feeling forgotten and replaceable. maybe i'm supposed to feel like this. a corpse, forced to stay alive by the cruel gods, for nothing but their entertainment. i feel like i should have put down in my sleep like an old, pathetic dog sooner. i wish i could just be better. but nothing ever works out. nothing sticks. nobody seems to actually notice, or care. i just want it all to be over. if i can't be okay, i'd be better off dead. but i just can't. and yet the irony of it all. i hate everything about my pathetic little atom of a life, but i'm afraid of death at the same time. why must i be so painfully bitter. i'm sorry to spill out my sludge-filled soul to nobody, but i had to get something out of me. somehow.